The Veil of Darkness
by Nocte Amissus
Summary: When you're faced with the option of living your life in the Darkest pits of your mind, you begin to think. What do you begin to think about? Well, that really just depends. For some, you may think of all the wrong doings you've done or perhaps you may think of your loved ones whom you may never see again. Full summary on profile!
1. The Darkness

_Hey there everyone! Nocte here, just like to give a quick little tid bit. I do NOT own Teen Wolf, sad but it's true. I do, however, own this story and plot. Some of the characters may seem out of character, and I'm sorry about that. Also, the full plot can be found on my profile, along with the list of pairings. Read and review please 3_

**Chapter One:**

_"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." - Edgar Allen Poe_

There are times when you, as a person, must think. No not the kind of thinking a teacher would ask you to do, nor the kind of thinking you do on your own. No, this kind of thinking is the kind of thinking that shows who the oblivious and the knowing are. It's in these thoughts that a person's true measure and worth can be found. It's in these thoughts that a person can finally see just what their life has succumed to. When I first asked myself what I wanted my life to be like, I had no idea. What kind of idea I should have was another question altogether.

Since I can remember, my father has instructed me to do things as my mother would have me do them. In the beginning, I also had my mother there to guide me along and show me just how I should do things. Illness had taken hold, however, and I was left to my own vices. Did you know that you can lose 3 liters of blood before you lose consciousness? Of course, this changes depending on size. For a ten year old 67 pound boy, three liters is more than enough. It truthfully only took about a liter before I began to grow faint. A few moments later rendered me immobile and unconscious. When my father found me ten minutes later, I was sprawled out across the blood stained, ivory tiled floor. The ambulance was called and I was placed into an intensive therapy program.

A person then must wonder, what on Earth could possess a ten year old to try and commit suicide. The answer to that question is simple. Death. To be more specific, the death of his mother. When faced with the sickening realization that I had in fact watched my mother melt away to nothing, the darkness crept in. If I'm being honest with myself, the darkness had begun to seep in much earlier on - perhaps when I first learned of the illness that plagued my mother's beautiful body. That beautiful body was tainted though - tainted with a darkness that was incurable. A Darkness that took hold with ebony claws and shackled itself to her heart. For three months it ravaged her body, taking her from me bit by aching bit. Soon enough, there was nothing left. She was there, perhaps, but not really. She was gone by then, knowing that the illness would never leave. I never did get to say goodbye though. Maybe that was why it began. Maybe it was because I never got to tell her I loved her for the last time, or maybe because I was just so angry she left me alone

No matter the reason, it happened and I was left as a broken shell. I became numb to the world around me and I knew it. I knew what my father saw when he looked at me, and I knew what he saw when he looked away. He saw her, laying on the ivory sheets that reeked of bleach and decay. It's a funny disease, Cancer is. There are so many types and yet not-a-one can be cured. Developments have been made, of course, and perhaps we're getting closer day by day.

There are 12,357 women diagnosed with cancer each year. Of those women, 3,909 don't make it. I suppose my mother is now simply one of those statistics, nothing to be done about it of course. She became no more than a statistic the moment the monitor flat lined and her cold, unblinking eyes gazed flattly up at the groove-ridden ceiling. At 7:30 A.M on Tuesday, February 6th, my mother became a statistic. One might call me cruel for saying it, but it's the sad truth - a reality one must face.

You see, there's a point when you just... stop, for lack of better words. You stop caring, you stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop seeing. You just stop, and suddenly everything is better. No more pain and no more heartache. You're left alone to stew and boil and those feelings begin to fester, but even still - you never feel it. Most people see that as bad or wrong, as something that you should be ashamed of. Perhaps it is, but the loss of a significant role model is enough to drive anyone to that point. For a ten year old, that pain is unbearable. For a ten year old, nothing is worse than the loss of a parent. For a ten year old boy with ADHD, nothing was worse than losing his mother.

The cutting came later, however. After the first failed attempt and seven therapy sessions later, I found the blade hidden under the sink. It was my father's, I knew, from the smell of the shaving cream that clung to it. Old Spice, I remember. I'd taken the blade with a moment's hesitation and dived back into my Superhero clad room. A bit ironic, isn't it? How I could be so weak in the presence of heroes. But, in those moments when the pain seared my flesh and white clouded my vision, I didn't care.

The cuts were slow and precise. The lines rose up, thick and ugly against pale flesh. They were bloody and raw, and all I could do was stare. I'd never liked blood. It was ugly and gross, and the smell of it was beyond repulsive. I didn't care. The relief that settle over my mind was overwhelming and I found myself lost in euphoria. It's been told that a person who cut's is a coward - a weak, spineless coward who thinks of no one but himself. I'm here to tell you what a blatant lie that is. A person who cuts is the strongest of people who have finally broken down and seek relief. The pain would make a coward squirm and sob and stop - but still the razor goes deeper.

Line after line is drawn onto my arms. Had I really been thinking, I'd have realized what a terrible place it was. Nevertheless, I marked my body, tainting it with lines that oozed the coppery red substance in rivlets. I watched as the crimson flow pooled on the floor around my arm, honey orbs gazing dully at the forming puddle. That's how my father found me an hour and a half later. You'd think he'd be surprised to find his ten year old son there, eyes welling with tears unshed. He wasn't. He was angry, I recall. He grabbed me up by my shoulders and shook my limp form in a fit of rage before dropping me onto my bed and stomping out. The sessions went up to once every day.

You'd think I'd have learned to stop after that, but I simply grew better at hiding it. I took to gliding the blade across my ribs and chest, occasionally my legs or biceps whenever I felt daring enough. By the age of twelve I'd carved the word 'tainted' into my flesh seven times in three separate places. One, on my ribs. Two, across my hips. Three, inside my thighs. It was then that the drinking began. My father had been named sherif only a month or so when I came home to find him passed out, head pillowed on his arms while slumped over the table. Case files were strewn about, papers scattered and a bottle of scotch forgotten on the floor beside his crooked chair. I dug a blanket from the closet and draped it over his shoulders before picking the bottle up, dropping it into the trash with a means of taking it out in the morning. That night my nightmares shifted from the faceless skeleton chasing me, to my father bashing the bottle open, over my head.

At the age of fourteen, I was a freshman. Highschool, I told myself, was going to be fun. I knew how to make Thirty-one different meals, knew three separate languages, and was chasing the girl of my dreams. At fifteen, I'd delved into the realm of mythology and folk lore. My best friend was bitten by a werewolf psycho Alpha who wanted revenge. At sixteen I was in the top twenty percent of my class and the cutting became less of a routine. The Psycho Alpha wasn't as psycho and a new alpha had taken his place. Though the new alpha wasn't exactly much better, he was an improvement. At Seventeen I'd read over one hundred and fifty books on Werewolf lore and fables. I was mauled fifty times, beaten twelve times, abandoned four times, and still I returned to the damn pack that seemed to never get tired of making the poor human do the grunt work. I, the only human in the pack of five wolves, was the one left to do the researching and the cooking and the cleaning and the nurturing. I'm the one who had to patch them all up when they came home batter and broken. I'm the one who had to care for them, when I was the fragile one. Not once did I complain, not verbally anyways. The cutting picked back up. Worthless was carved into the flesh just below my naval.

You'd think I'd know better than to leave any evidence of the blood that smeared my stomach - seems like I'm not as smart as everyone made me out to be, for that's how he found me. He, who despite everything, was the only one who seemed collected enough to never snap. He, who despite loathing my very existence, was the one who rescued me from the self-loathing. He was the one who pulled me out of the shadows and showed me that even if the darkness was there, light was not far behind. I owe my life to many people, though I'm sure they've received an adequate payment by now, but I've never owed someone so much, for doing so little.


	2. Our Turn Now

**Chapter Two:**

_"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach." - Pliny the Elder_

All around me lights fizzled and popped, the blinding white dragging across my vision as my lungs filled with oxygen. The rumble of the ever familiar Alpha sent shivers down my spine and I clamped my eyes shut once more. Words were mumbled and jumbled and nothing I could understand. My ears seemed to think that hearing wasn't important and I was left squirming in the silence. I'd never been able to stand the silence, but when I tried to open my mouth to speak, my tongue felt like lead and all I could feel coming from my lips was a mess of slurs. I might have said something about stupid fuzzy asses, it's always a possibility. Perhaps something about stupid alphas and their stupid god complexes - also a possibility. Truthfully, anything has the ability to come tumbling from my chapped lips at any given point in time.

This time, another rumble came from my side and it was then that I began to notice how warm I was. Comfortable... safe. When you're living through a bad episode of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, it's strange to feel safe. It's beyond strange, really, but nonetheless I felt it. It was then that I began to notice that I wasn't just warm - I was soft, no... no, it wasn't me. That was something else... My hand slapped out sluggishly, smacking something very much not human, and very much fuzzy. My lids forced themself open and the amused cerulean orbs of the very fuzzy, very wolfed-out Peter Hale stared right back at me. Had this been anyone else, I'd have been creeped out, but it was Peter and well - one must simply learn how to stop being creeped out by the very creeper-like man.

"... okay?" The voice broke through the haze and I found my skin vibrating as another rumble rippled from the wolf holding me. Slowly the beast's features faded back into the handsome man we'd all come to recognize as the Second Beta. It was strange, Jackson had told me. I knew there were some... harbored hates between the two, after all, Peter did use his girlfriend to get back to the land of the living. Did I hate him for it? In the beginning, but I was glad. Peter helped to calm Derek down. Derek...

My head lolled to the side and I was met with crimson laced emerald orbs. Lips dropped down in a familiar scowl, one might say Derek looked unaffected by my lack of speech and well-being. I knew differently. The pack knew differently. Behind the rough exterior and the harsh snarls and scowls and all together broodiness that we all came to accept as just Derek, there was a broken man. The broken man that cared for his pack before all else. The broken man who found a stupid human to be endearing at times, even if he never said the words aloud. My other hand flopped out limply, fingers making a grab for the Alpha. He stepped forward silently, my fingers gliding over his chiseled jaw littered with a thick stubble that tickled my fingers. His eyes seemed to soften and he nuzzled into the touch, though that might have just been my imagination for he stepped back just as quickly as a slop of nearly black hair came staggering into the room. Was it a room, or were we outside? I grunted and swatted at Peter, catching the top of his head a few times, drawing out another low rumble.

"Dude!" the slop exclaimed, amber orbs flashing in our direction. At any other time, I'd have appreciated Scott finally noticing me instead of his beloved Allison, but today was just not that time. My feet landed on the worn oak floor, littered with dust and dirt and shattered glass. My head spun as I stood upright and a firm hand was placed against the small of my back as I swayed. I didn't need to look to know it was Peter - he always had a way of touching people. Of course, they were always different touches, and nothing ever inappropriate. The way Scott was watching said otherwise, but well - Scott was just stupid.

"Bro... head.. oww." I whined in answer, shielding my eyes from the light of the dimly flickering candle in the corner of the room. It was a wonder I could see at all really, for the moon was nowhere to be seen by the night crept through the house, embracing the already existent darkness like an old friend. Scott either didn't hear (though technically that was impossible) or didn't care (which is most likely the answer). Either way, I found myself behind two very experience, very fluffy Wolves. There's something I'd learned about werewolves when I first began to research them - an Omega is not typically welcomed, and watching the three wolves now I realized that Scott made a fatal mistake. He had refused to become an Alpha, and facing down a Past Alpha and a Current Alpha - well, to put it lightly, Scott was screwed.

And then, he wasn't screwed, I was. A Heavy weight toppled into me and I found myself in the toned arms of a very bloody teen wolf. The perfect, blemish free nose pressed firmly into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. Moments later another nose was pressed just as firmly into the opposite side and I found myself trying not to laugh. Jackson's arms ensnared me, dragging me onto his lap while Isaac seemed content to simply sit on me in return. The warmth and safety that was pack enveloped me, easing the ache of my muscles and the soreness of my limbs. The pain slowly began to.. No! I shoved Isaac off and staggered to my feet, struggling away from Jackson's hold. The two betas whined pitifully from the back of their throats and watched me with half lidded eyes. I simply glared, arms crossed grumpily over my chest. If there was one thing I hated above all else, it was them trying to take the pain away. Derek often forced me to do it, demanding that a Wolf could handle it better. Peter would agree and the two would tag team me.

Peter's small chuckle filled the tense air, a well-taned hand running through golden locks. "Scott, it's been a while." I could never understand how he could be so calm in these kinds of situations. It was crazy, and totally not cool. Why couldn't I be that cool? I huffed and aimed a feeble kick at the back of his leg. The kick met air and I suddenly found myself back in the grasp of the two younger Betas. No more attempts to relieve me of the pain came, and instead we all watched the scene play out before us.

A part of me, I suppose, hated the fact that Scott was about to get his ass handed to him - but really, that's what happens when you come onto an Alpha's 'turf' without invitation. It's also what happens when you turn your back on your kind and join up with your natural enemy - of course, all of this escaped Scott when he left. When he left, leaving me in his wake, bloody and forgotten. I shuddered involuntarily, an act that didn't go unnoticed by anyone - save for Scott whose face screwed up in confusion. Okay, I'll admit finding me in the arms of Jackson and my arms snaked around Isaac, holding him on my lap, well - it probably wasn't what the Omega had expected to see when he'd sauntered into the room. A lot can change though. Scott leaving changed things. I was left out of the Werewolf damage for six days before I found myself face to face with a Rogue. Of course I'd be the one to find the rogue, and of course I'd be the one to throw a tantrum right then and there. When Peter and Derek had found me, I was shouting and cursing and having a fit in front of a dumb-struck Werewolf. The werewolf was 'taken care of' as they put it and I was brought back into the fold.

"... he here?" I cocked my head at Scott having previously zoned out. Peter had taken a place beside our little 'puppypile' even if he didn't want to admit that it was in fact a puppypile while Derek loomed over us. A part of him knew Scott wasn't a threat, but Scott had betrayed him to. Scott put everyone in danger because of his stupid little crush - he'd decided that a girl was more important that a family, not caring what he left in his wake. Derek could have easily 'taken care of' Scott, probably would have had I not been there. "I asked why he was here, Derek! He's a human!" Scott's voice was snarled and worn, he even seemed a bit breathless as he stared the Alpha down.

"Hey, human here!" I grinned cheekily, waving at the two. Derek's eyes rolled but his shoulders relaxed, even if just by a bit. Scott himself seemed to just get even more aggressive. "M'helpin' Scott," I yawned, wiggling slightly on Jackson's lap until I found a comfortable enough spot, "no need to worry. I'm still in one piece. Not that you'd really care. No offence, but yenno.. Yeah. It has been a while since you've bothered to even come home. How was Venice? Did you and Chris find Gerard? Hope so, that guy's a creep." Another shudder racked my body and a chrous of snarls rose up, two sets of arms tightening around me. "Aww, look at you lot. All protective over lil' 'ole me. I'm flattered." I quipped, patting Isaac's curls and relaxing into Jackson's warmth. I could feel Peter's temper flare, and looking over, I caught his narrowed gaze. He hated when Gerard was mentioned. Hated it almost as much as my d.. dad.. "Shit!" I scrambled back to my feet, Isaac flopping onto the floor with a pout. "My dad's suppose to be home early tonight, I'm screwed, so screwed. I have to start dinner and clean and ohmygod look at me! I'm a wreck! He's going to have so many questions and then your fluffy asses are going to be chalk full of Wolfsbane bullets and oh god." I rambled, scrambling around the room in search of my keys. Successfully finding them under one of the mildewed couch cushions, I gave small pat to a still pouting Isaac's head and a ruffled pat to Jackson's before I was out the door.

If there was one thing I regretted more than anything, it was lying to a bunch of wolves. Truth was, my dad wasn't home - he was away on a standard trip with the guys at the office. Being the Sheriff sometimes had it's perks - bonding with your deputies to the point of going on a week long camping trip just so happened to be one of them. Getting out of a room filled with Wolves, however - well, the lie was worth it. Being out of the room, away from Scott... it was worth it.

I clambered into the slightly rusted, well driven jeep and stroked the Steering wheel for a long moment, before heaving out a sigh and sliding the key into the ignition. You'd think, by now, I'd have gotten a better care. You'd think I'd be able to afford a better car. But, no. I had no job, I had no money. My life revolved around my wolves, and that's just how it was. With a strangled purr, the jeep clanked to life and I was gone.

I don't know what I really expected, I mean obviously Scott was going to have to come back eventually - he was just a minor after all. Still, I didn't think he'd be back so soon. Then again, school was going to start in another few weeks. School, no Mr. Harris. No Erika or Boyd. No fawning over Lydia because the girl hated me now more than ever. No, this year was going to be good. I had Jackson and Isaac with me now... I didn't need Scott. I didn't need the stupid, sad, love-struck puppy that I used to trail after. No, I was a new me. Wasn't I?

Parking in front of the two story, brick house, I knew I wasn't. I knew that no matter what, I wasn't a new person and that soon enough Scott would find some way to weasel himself back in my life and I'd just go back to being the worthless human once more. Grabbing the shredded hoodie from the passenger side seat, I carefully slid from the jeep and clumsily maneuvered my way to the front door. Being alone was dangerous - but being alone gave me relief. Climbing the stairs one by one, it seemed to take forever to reach my bedroom. Clothes were scattered about, some spilling over the hamper and others just stuffed in random places. I'd clean it up later. For now, I slumped to the floor under the window, shaking fingers digging around under my mattress before the familiar ashen box was in my grasp. Shirt long forgotten in a pile of clothes, the blade cut into flesh. W. O. R. T. H. L. E. S. S. Letter after letter spread and clotted with blood until the word sat for the word to see. Carved just under the receding scars of 'tainted' just below my rib cage. That's how I stayed, watching through swimming vision as the blood began to seep and pool. It was scary, sometimes, knowing how much power I had over my own life when it sometimes seem like the Wolves had it all. It was scary knowing that if I just went a little bit deeper, or even a little bit farther up, I could be dead in a few measly hours.

I loved my Wolves, no question about it. They took me in when Scott abandoned me. I became their Human as they became my Wolves. Derek stopped slamming me into things, for the most part. Peter no longer came off as a creeper, but more of a banter-partner. Isaac wormed his way into the deepest part of my heart with his easy smiles and sad, puppy eyes that even Scott had never been able to pull off. Jackson - Jackson was no longer the pompous ass he use to be. Not to me, anyways. He became a friend, a protector. He took his role as a Wolf seriously, and it showed.

Just thinking about the group made my heart throb angrily in my chest, knowing I could never be a part of them. Not truly. Perhaps it was a dumb move, leaving the blade in the pool of blood at the foot of the window. Perhaps it was a dumb move to not scrub the blood from my flesh, rather than just dabbing it off with a cloth. Perhaps it was a dumb move to not clean up after myself. The dumbest move of all, however, was not bothering to pull a shirt on before I flopped into bed.

That's how he found me, just minutes after midnight. I was flopped onto my back, head cocked to the side in sleep, stomach and chest and arms bare for the world to see. That wasn't how I woke up though. I woke up to the identical snarls and furious eyes of an Alpha and his Second. I woke up with the blood cleaned and blade gone. I woke up to a fuming pair of Hales and oh Hell was I screwed.

"Genim," Peter purred, cerulean eyes bright against the darkness. I winced at the use of my real name. "What," his voice grew snarled and deep, the only sign he ever gave to being pissed off about something, "is that." A clawed finger pointed at the capital letters written boldly into my flesh. They'd since stopped bleeding and my sheets were no longer stained with blood, how long had those two been here?

"Why that, Peter, happens to be a chest. Everyone has one, look! Even you..." I quipped back only to squeak and duck my head at the low growl coming from the back of his throat.

"Yes, I can see that it is a chest, Genim. But why in the Bloody hell are the words carved into said chest?" Peter had always liked my sarcasm he said - apparently that didn't apply to it being directed at him in a matter of such seriousness. Derek didn't seem to be faring any better than Peter, his crimson orbs blazing with barely concealed rage and pure desire to throttle the poor human.

"Why, would ya look at that..." I gulped, tugging the sheets over my chest and gnawing on my lip. Okay, so they knew... Fuck they knew. Why did they have to know? They weren't suppose to know. It was my secret. Dad knew too, even if he ignored it, of course. Derek's eyes flashed brilliantly for a moment and I have to commend him for being able to keep himself from slamming me into the wall as he would have done before.

"Worthless? Tainted?" Derek's voice was just as deep as Peter's, but with a hint of sadness laced deep within. If I had been just anyone, I wouldn't have heard it. I wouldn't have known that Derek truly cared. But I was me, and I did know. And, it made my chest tighten impossibly more. "Stiles... Is this.. do you really?"

"I watched her fade away, yenno," I hummed softly, turning my head from the pair in order to curl into myself, staring out the window. "I watched as it took hold of her and ate everything that made her... her. I watched as she began to die, and I watched as she gave up. You know that there are 1.."

"Don't start spewing out facts, Genim." It was Peter's gruff, tired voice that made me pause. His eyes were back to the cerulean that didn't exactly glow, but were still bright enough to notice in the moonless night.

"She was tainted. The disease took her purity and her life. I was tainted because I was a part of her for a time being. I loved her. She was my mom, and who doesn't love their mom? I miss her, more and more each day... but we were both tainted nonetheless. The doctors told me I was tainted too. They made go to sessions everyday. I hated it. I never liked him, he smelled of candy - but not the good candy. He smelled like the type of candy a creeper would give a little kid to lure them into the back of his windowless van. He also smelled like bleach - I hated that smell. Made me sick. Putting the two together just made it worse." I knew I was rambling when I felt the arms of Peter around waist, moving so he was laying before me, my head tucked securely under his chin. Derek's arms soon followed as he took his place behind me, tangling our legs together and burying his nose in the crook of my neck. It was his favorite spot to scent, though he never told me why. Peter always liked... well it was never the same place twice with Peter so I didn't really know what he liked best. Either way, I found myself in a cocoon of warmth and strength. "You're going to leave soon," I mumbled into the fabric on Peter's chest, "Both of you. Scott's back now."

The identical growls that bubbled from their throats made me pause for a moment. "Is that what this is about? You think we're going to leave you, just like that? All because Scott's back?" I don't know who said it, too focused on the steady beat of Peter's heart in my ear and the thumping of Derek's against my back. I've heard it said that no two hearts are ever in sync - but ours were. The beats slowed or quickened respectively and began to throb together.

"He's a Wolf. I'm a human." I murmured back.

"Dammit Stiles, you're not just some human though." That was Derek. Peter refused to call me Stiles, saying it was a silly name not fit for even a dog. I'd pouted and sniffled and still I lost the fight.

"Scott is not pack, Genim," Peter added, lips pressed against the top of my head. "You are pack. Human or not. And you're our Human."

Those words should have made everything okay - normally they would have, but they didn't. In the back of my mind, I knew Peter was telling me the truth, but the sudden blip in the way his heart beat made me know he was also lying. Was that what it was like whenever someone lied to a werewolf? A little blip? Seems too easy to be true.

"Scott betrayed us all. You've saved us all. Now it's our turn to save you." That was Derek again. I liked his voice. It was really deep and always seemed to have a snarl laced with it, but it was a nice voice rich and smooth unlike the gravely voice of some men. Peter's voice, of course, was nice too - with the sultry slur and purr to his words, but not even that could best Derek's. That was the thing about him though, Derek didn't have to charm anyone into doing anything, or at least - he didn't have to try. Derek was just charming whenever he wasn't brooding, and even then he had his moments. "Sleep, Stiles. We'll talk more in the morning."

And I did just as the Alpha instructed. I fell asleep wrapped in the firm yet gentle embrace of the two Hales. My dreams were few and far between, but I slept peacefully for the first time in a long time.


	3. Pancake Heaven

_**Chapter Three:**_

_"If you flee the darkness, it will forever stay dark." - Unknown_

The scent of Pancakes and coffee wafted through the house, enveloping me in a welcoming embrace. The two Hales were gone, leaving me wrapped tightly among blankets. The scars burned and ached as I moved, but the scent was too intoxicating. Staggering my way down the stairs, my gaze skimmed over the multitude of boxes and the scent of Axe and Rain pushed all thoughts of food from my mind. Derek. A grin split my face as I bounced into the kitchen where sure enough, the Alpha was placing a plate of pancakes on the table in my spot. Emerald eyes, hard as ever, skimmed over my body briefly before a grunt of approval and a nod of his head sent me to the table.

If there's one thing that everyone should know about Derek, it's that he can cook. I always thought I was a cook, but holy mother of god. One bite of Derek's pancakes, and you're in heaven. If I were to die, I'd want Heaven to be filled with his pancakes. Maybe even made out of his pancakes. "Are they cold?" His voice cut through my thoughts and I glanced up to see his brows cocked and arms folded over his chest, spatula in hand.

"Wha.. oh! No. They're great! Awesome, delicious, yenno," I coughed slightly and turned my attention to the stack before me, not failing to miss the slight chuckle I received in response, I attacked the food with a renewed vigor. Okay, so yeah. Awesome pancakes plus Derek Hale equals great morning. Not to mention I got coffee, because coffee is awesome and whoever invented it should have never died because he's that awesome. So awesome that even his eyebrows must have been awesome and eyebrows are so never awesome.

"... Moving in with us."

"Wha?" I grumbled cluelessly, mouth stuffed with the deliciousness that was Derek Hale's Cooking. I could feel the glare before I could see it. Derek's patience with me was nothing short of well... short. He secretly loved me because well, I'm me, but inside there was still the stressed out Alpha who found relief in beating things up. In the past, those things were a one Genim 'Stiles' Stilinski. It's when his brows furrow and his lips pull back in a sinister scowl that I'm reminded that he isn't always the cuddly Alpha who always seemed to find his way into my bed at some point in the night - even though he didn't know I knew about that - but a vicious beast who could easily rip me in two. HA! Who am I kidding? Derek loved me, he wouldn't kill me. From the low growls emitting from his throat, however, one truly begins to wonder.

"I said," he snapped, "you're moving in with us." My fork clattered to the table halfway to my mouth, the gathered pancakes flopping to the ground as I stared wide eyed at him. "Don't give me that look. Until that stops," he motioned to my chest, "you're under constant surveillance. Only Peter and I know, but Jackson and Isaac will be watching after you too. They're being told that you're having nightmares, which also isn't far from the truth." For a moment I simply gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish out of water.

"But... this is my home. I mean, yeah sure, your home is my home and my home is your home, but this is MY home! I can't leave, what about my father? My father will be here and see me gone and think I just up and le-"

"Peter called your father last night, explained that because of your 'nightmares' and an Omega being in town, we felt that you'd be safer with us. Your father agreed." Derek interrupted, arms folded firmly over his broad chest. My lips jutted out into a pout and I huffed indignantly.

"What if I pro-"

"No." And that was that. After finishing my pancakes, semi-reluctantly, Derek had me packing. My clothes, my bedding, my laptop - everything went into separate boxes before being sealed and packed away into the sleek ebony Camaro parked in the drive. Derek helped here and there but mostly left me to my own vices, opting to stay downstairs to watch TV.

After sealing the final box, I flopped onto my bed with a sigh. Truth was, this was probably a good thing - but, Peter and Derek knew. With them knowing, it would mean constant surveillance. I wouldn't be left alone for more than a few minutes, probably, and at school Jackson and Isaac would probably be told to watch over me though neither knew the real reason apparently. With another sigh, I pushed myself to my feet and gripped the box tightly in my arms. I'd be back, of course, eventually, but even then - Derek and Peter would be by constantly to make sure I was okay. Mumbling and grumbling, I stalked down the stairs and loaded the box away.

As we drove away, I couldn't help another sigh. This was so going to be stressful.


End file.
